


I’ll Show You Mine If It’s Bigger Than Yours

by Kaiosea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Antagonistic Sex, Blowjobs, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Facials, Hair Pulling, M/M, Rivalry, Rough Oral Sex, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6625630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiosea/pseuds/Kaiosea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo likes to consider himself a nice, non-aggressive person. Oikawa troubles this paradigm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’ll Show You Mine If It’s Bigger Than Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zee/gifts).



> I was excited to receive your pinch hit. Your signup was quite inspiring. I hope you enjoy this!

“You _missed_.” 

They’re Kuroo’s first words to Oikawa all day, spoken to him just after their final failed quick. Their team’s practice is ending, and they haven’t gotten it right even once yet. 

“I didn’t!” Oikawa says indignantly, sticking his hands on his hips. “My toss was on point.” 

Their university team captain shoots them a look as if to say, _Not this again_. Kuroo exchanges glances with Oikawa and they mutually decide to postpone their fight until they’re out of earshot. 

Three months of practice and no accomplishments to show for it. The coach has no idea what to do with them. The team’s been winning their practice games, but never with both of them on the court at the same time. 

It’s frustrating. Kuroo has no idea why he and Oikawa are so fucking incompatible. Outstanding captains of their high school teams, popular among their teammates and friends, ridiculously attractive… it should be a perfect match. 

And yet it’s anything but. Just the sight of Oikawa raises Kuroo’s blood pressure -- his manic hair, his constant and slippery flirting, the fake grins he flashes to his fans… 

And the fans. Kuroo had thought he’d had female admirers before, but Oikawa’s fanclub puts them all to shame. They’re not even the same girls that cheered for him in high school! (Or so Oikawa has said, smugly.) Kuroo has to admit that the guy attracts people to him, like bugs to a powerful light. One that promises to fry you to dust if you get too close. 

Unfortunately, Kuroo has always chosen to press his luck. 

“You want me so bad right now,” Oikawa whispers to him, while pulling his shirt over his head in the locker room. It’s not a question. A smug smile plays around his mouth, and Kuroo wants to slap the smirk off his face with his dick. Instead he strips himself and gets in the shower. 

Kuroo likes to consider himself a nice, non-aggressive person. He calls his mom, keeps up with his friends in other cities, goes to uni parties regularly but doesn’t get too drunk, and makes time to backseat coach his high school team when they pester him for advice. 

Oikawa troubles this paradigm. 

The frustration of hitting a massive wall in his volleyball playstyle is not new to Kuroo, although he’s never clashed with a setter like this before. But because Oikawa works perfectly with every other member of their team, the thing that Kuroo hates most about him is that he’s started to doubt himself. He has to wonder if he’s the reason behind their combined defeat, if there’s something dysfunctional and particular to himself that makes them mess up every feint, every quick. Their timing is always off. He sighs and switches off the shower, avoiding small talk with his teammates today. 

By the time everyone clears out of the locker room, he’s gotten dressed in a mindless rush. Pointless considering Oikawa has re-appeared, freshly showered as well, though clad in only his boxers.

It’s his ruminations that push him to fist a hand in Oikawa’s hair and kiss him. It’s far from the first time. Just as they can’t work together, they can’t seem to stay apart. 

Kuroo barely wets his lips in the kiss before Oikawa shoves him behind the last row of lockers, furthest from any entrance. No one is going to come in, but in case they do, they’ll have adequate warning. 

His pants are manhandled down his knees, straight to business as usual. “Been distracted by this all day?” Oikawa quips. It’s an insult. Kuroo’s dick is at attention already, embarrassingly so when Oikawa looks to be just half-mast, an angled bulge in his underwear. 

Kuroo can’t think of a response, not when Oikawa is kneeling. Immediately he thinks about the last time he felt his mouth on his cock. It was fucking weeks ago, because even though they hook up regularly, Oikawa has a dedicated, weirdo philosophy on giving head. He won’t do it as a prelude to sex, only as a main course in itself; Kuroo remembers him saying, _“If I’m blowing you, you’re going to come from it. Don’t insult me by asking if I want to get fucked instead.”_ Yeah, Kuroo remembers that only too well, how Oikawa had made him come on his face, how explosive his orgasm had been. He hadn’t known people actually did that in real life. 

Oikawa spends precious time tonguing his balls before dragging the flat of his tongue over every centimeter of Kuroo’s cock. He doesn’t put it in his mouth yet, just spits in his hand and strokes him. His lips swallow his balls, and he slaps Kuroo’s cock against his face, a few times on one cheek, then the other. 

Kuroo feels himself throbbing every time his dick swings and hits his face. It’s the dirtiest visual he’s ever seen, not to mention the sound, and it’s making him too horny, too fast. He makes a strangled noise; Oikawa immediately releases him with a smirk, taking his mouth and hand away. Kuroo clenches his stomach and exhales. 

He lets out another long breath watching Oikawa slowly fits his cock in his throat, done teasing. He has to suppress his gag reflex at several key points, and Kuroo grins wickedly. He has never taken more pride in being larger than average, especially when Oikawa is _decidedly average._

Oikawa falls into an easy rhythm, bobbing his head like it’s as natural as breathing. Kuroo enjoys watching the split of his mouth around his cock. His lips flex around the base when he’s all the way down and tighten as he drags his mouth back up to the tip. The same way the rim of his hole tries to hold onto Kuroo’s cock when he’s fucking him, like a tight elastic band. 

Slick and wet from start to finish. Oikawa’s blinks up at him like he knows what Kuroo’s thinking, just before he gags himself on his cock again. His throat spasms around the head of his cock, his tongue massaging the underside, and he stays down for a good five seconds, his lashes raised impudently in a clear challenge. 

He’s saying, _Look what I can do and you can’t._

Oikawa has tried to facefuck him before, with Kuroo’s permission, but his throat never fucking cooperates. It refuses to take it more than halfway down, and Oikawa doesn’t have a huge dick or anything. Kuroo’s mouth just isn’t shit-talking enough to fit the entire length in his mouth. It’s like his body’s automatic reflex is to reject Oikawa’s dick from his throat, like the final finger to the connection they lack. That, at least, cannot be his fault. 

He groans and shoves his hand into Oikawa’s hair. He moans around his dick, and Kuroo pulls the strands harder, getting his hand into the scalp. He facefucks him like that for a while, relishing the visceral, sloppy noises he fucks out of his throat. Oikawa’s face is wet. His eyes are glassy. His hand occasionally massages Kuroo’s balls, heavy and slick from the drool that’s slipped down. 

After a minute or so, Oikawa taps out, and Kuroo releases his hair. Oikawa slides back on his heels and puts his lips to just the tip of his cock. Spit drools down his dick, the good kind of spit, thick and a little ropey, and Oikawa sleeves his hands over his length, like a custom-made toy of silk. His chest rises and falls, but he acts like taking a break from shoving cock down his throat is for Kuroo’s benefit instead of his own, like nothing can overwhelm him. He acts like he doesn’t have his hair mussed into a bird’s nest, like his voice isn’t hoarse from cocksucking, he acts like he isn’t -- Kuroo glances down and smirks -- fully tenting his pants now, a small circular dark spot betraying the arrogance he exudes. 

“Not gonna touch yourself?” Kuroo asks. 

“That's your job,” Oikawa says. The confidence he has in Kuroo’s reciprocation is not inaccurately placed, but the curl of his lip as he says it riles Kuroo up, and he starts thinking of how to enact his own brand of torture on him soon. 

“Bet I can get you off faster.” 

Oikawa is so predictable. It makes him easy to tease. Sure enough, his eyes narrow and his mouth plunges down to the base, sucking heavily, like he’s desperate for Kuroo’s load. 

Fuck. Fuck. More of that and he’s going to come, and it looks like Oikawa’s going to let him. He pushes Oikawa’s face back from his cock and jacks himself off furiously. “You want it?” 

Oikawa’s face is too relaxed. “I’m a fucking slut for it.” He bites his lower lip purposefully and closes his eyes. After barely a moment, he heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Are you going to do it or what?” 

Kuroo doesn’t know how Oikawa can incite him to such levels of aroused annoyance even when he’s not doing anything, just sitting back on prim heels like Kuroo’s cock isn’t smack in front of his face. _If he wants it, I’ll give it to him._ His back is glued to the locker behind him. His knees bend. 

His first shot goes wild. Aimed too high, it flies over Oikawa’s back, barely hitting some of his hair, and Oikawa crows, “You missed!” with vicious glee. “I can’t believe you fucking--” But Kuroo’s next shot finds its target, striping over Oikawa’s moving tongue and into his mouth, a bit around his cheeks. It shuts him up, his tongue sliding over his lips as Kuroo gleefully proceeds to hit his mark over and over again, stroking himself off on his cheekbones, over his lips and eyelashes and brows, slapping his cock against the places he’s already left his cum. Wet imprints in a temporary mess. Some begins to drool from Oikawa’s chin before he leaves the last spurts on his forehead, framing the picture he’s painted with pearls. 

Oikawa makes a muffled noise. Kuroo sees him biting his dirty lip and gripping himself through thin boxers. 

His cock twitches valiantly in his hand, sensitive as hell and not soft yet. He has a lot of options right now. He could jerk him off in the showers and let the heat and water do most of the work for him, or he could blow Oikawa, get him to unload in his mouth or on his chest. But those feel like unfair reciprocation after what Oikawa just did. 

His eyes follow the naked curve of Oikawa’s spine down, and he squeezes his dick. _That’ll work._

He’s going to rim Oikawa on the locker room bench until he cries. He hopes Oikawa will let the cum dry on his face while he does it. 

“Hey,” Kuroo says, cracking his neck to the side. “Take those off already.”


End file.
